


The Importance of Being Trusted

by BarricadeKitten (Dominatrix)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur needs to talk about his feelings more, Eames needs a hug, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Idiot men in love, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 14:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10414740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/BarricadeKitten
Summary: „Come on darling. Don’t you trust me?““How can I trust you when you’re leaving without telling me?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in this fandom, whee! Confetti for everyone!

Arthur is cleaning the kitchen counter when he hears the door open, then close with a soft snick again.

"I hope you're not still wearing shoes" he mutters, unconsciously leaning back when two arms snake around his waist from behind and a soft kiss is pressed to the back of his neck.

„Come on darling. Don’t you trust me?“

Here’s the thing: Arthur knows Eames, and that means that his words are more of a rhetorical question than anything else. A build-up to possibly kinky and definitely spectacular sex, if Arthur had to guess. But here’s the thing: Arthur _knows_ Eames, and that means that he knows the other man will definitely notice the way Arthur stiffens at his words. He’s a forger, which means he’s not only lying for a living – which amuses Eames to no end – but he’s also incredibly perceptive when it comes to other people and their body language, slight as the clues might be.

And with Arthur, they are slight. It would take a long while of knowing the man to read the light squaring of his shoulders, the twitch in his jaw as he clenches his teeth and the almost unnoticeable added tension in his fingers as irritation. As bad luck has it, Eames is one of the few people who know Arthur that long and that well. At least one of the few that’s still alive, and isn’t that a depressing thought?

“Darling” Eames mumbles and noses at Arthur’s neck to get his attention again. He’s still got his arms around Arthur’s waist, but their grip is a bit more cautious. Arthur might not be a forger, but he’s not an idiot, and he’s been doing this…thing with Eames long enough to know he’s trying to be considerate.

“How can I trust you when you’re leaving without telling me?” His words are cold and bitter and Arthur thanks his voice for not trembling. Eames’ grip slackens completely, leaving Arthur’s sides cold and bare, and Arthur wants to scream.

“What are you talking about, darling?” Eames apparently has not picked up on this being a fight just yet; his endearment is spoken in a soft, slightly bemused tone. Arthur steps away from Eames, ignoring the cold that creeps up to him instantly, and turns around to face him.

“I found your ticket to London. One-way. I thought…I thought you respected me well enough to tell me. I should have known better.”

Suddenly, all colour and emotion drains out of Eames’s face, and it’s a terrifying view to see the usually to expressive features completely blank.

“You went through my stuff?"  
  
Arthur can’t but let out a cold bark of a laugh at that. Of course that’s what Eames would pick up on. “Oh don’t start like I’m the bad one here. We’re not doing this. Not now.”  
  
“Doing what?”  
  
“What we always do; with you not giving a single fuck about any consequences but always getting away with it because everybody is just so fucking charmed, and me getting to pick up all the broken pieces you leave behind.”

The silence stretches on for a few uncomfortable moments, and it seems even more stifling after Arthur’s yelling. When Eames speaks up again, it’s uncharacteristically quiet.

“Is that what you think of me?”

“It doesn’t matter, apparently.” Arthur _knows_ he’s being unfair, he knows that, but he can’t help it, he’s just so upset.

“Arthur, don’t be like that.” Eames raises his hands in an attempt to be comforting, but they’ve fought enough times for him to know that trying to touch Arthur would not be a smart move right now.  
  
“I…I was filing away some documents for my apartment”, and who is Arthur even kidding. It’s _their_ apartment, has been theirs the moment Eames decided to be more than just a fling and started spending most, if not all his time off work with Arthur. “And I just saw it. I didn’t mean to. I wish I hadn’t seen it. I…I wish you would have just left.”

And this is a lie right there, but judging by the broken look on Eames’ face, he doesn’t know Arthur’s lying. So Arthur forgets about pride and coming out of a fight as the winner and concedes just a bit. His next words are barely more than a murmur.

“I wish you wouldn’t leave me.”

“Darling, I had no idea you cared.” And normally, Arthur would brush this off with a scoff or a scowl, or a mixture of both, because this is just a hundred percent Eames: The teasing, the easy flirting, the twinkle in his eyes. Or it would be, but it’s not. Because it sounds all wrong. It sounds sincere, like Eames seriously doesn’t know. His eyes are still wide, but they have lost their openness in emotion. Eames seems to have gotten back into his forger personality, put his everyday mask back on, and it breaks Arthur’s heart just enough to be honest.

“I love you.” He sees Eames’ jaw twitch, the way he flinches under the unfamiliar words.

“Don’t taunt me, Arthur” he says, almost whispers, and Arthur wants to yell it in his face until Eames believes it. He settles on taking a step towards the other man and looks into his eyes with what he hopes is his most sincere expression.  
  
“I’m serious. I love you.”  
  
Eames chuckles, but it sounds empty and hollow. “But you don’t trust me.”

Arthur sighs, running a hand over his face although a part of him is afraid that Eames could be gone by the time his eyes are uncovered again. “Have you ever wondered why Cobb never comes around here?”

“I don’t see why that’s important…” Eames starts, but Arthur is having none of it. Not now.

“I mean it, Eames. Every time he wants to reach us, when we’re in Mombasa or New York or Sidney or Cologne…He just comes to our doorstep. Have you never thought of why he never came here?”

This gives the Englishman a moment to think. But Arthur sees he’s coming up empty.  
  
“I…Um.”  
  
Arthur dares taking another step towards Eames, and now they’re close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off the other man. He takes a big breath and decides that maybe, just this once, keeping Eames is more important than keeping his pride. “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know we’re here, Eames. Nobody knows I live here. Nobody except you.”  
  
Of all the things Arthur could have said, it’s clear on Eames’ face that this was nothing he had expected.

“What?”

“I wanted a place to call my own. A place just for me, and nobody else. But…I realised it wasn’t the same without you. I wanted you here, because…you’re a part of me.”

Intimacy is a difficult thing for Arthur. Emotional intimacy, that is. He has never had problems with the physical side of things, doesn’t feel much different naked than in a full three-piece suit, but _talking about his feelings_ …That’s something else entirely.

The silence stretches on for an awkwardly long amount of time, and Arthur tries to be a grown-up about it. It’s not the first time he’s been rejected, not the first time he’s experiencing heartbreak. But it’s the first time he cares so much. No matter how hard he wants to keep up the stealthy appearance he always shows, he just can’t look at Eames right now, knowing this is probably the last time they’ll meet under these circumstances.

Arthur startles when he feels a warm, big hand at his jaw, and he clenches his teeth at the disgusting mixture of warmth and dread settling in his stomach.

“Look at me, darling” Eames mutters, and Arthur just wants to cry at how soft and wonderful his voice sounds. He hasn’t cried in years, not since Mal died, and even then, he’d only allowed the tears to fall when he had been on his own. “Arthur, please.”

Arthur collects every single bit of strength he has left and looks up into Eames’ eyes. He almost shies away at the undisclosed fondness there.

“I never expected you to feel like this about me. To be quite honest, I didn’t think I deserved it.”

“Eames…” Arthur starts, because they have talked about this, in quiet moments, when Eames drops every mask he has. Coldness has always been Arthur’s preferred method to hide his self-doubts; Eames’ is his flirtatious behaviour. It has taken Arthur a long time to notice, and even longer to understand.

“That’s not the point now. I’m sorry if I caused you pain, Arthur, seriously. But if you would have bothered to just ask me, I would have explained…There are two tickets.”  
  
Suddenly, all tension leaves Arthur’s body. “What?”  
  
Eames doesn’t feel brave enough to smile just yet; but Arthur’s dumbfounded expression at least makes the life return to his eyes. “Two tickets, darling. I wanted you…I wanted you to come with me. You know I miss home sometimes, and I have been missing it quite terribly lately. My family, the city, my place there, all of it. I wanted to take you with me, just for a while.”

Arthur can’t help but be speechless for a moment. This defines their…whatever it is they have far more than any of his words could. It gives significance where there was only insecurity before. “You wanted me to…”  
  
“I want you to meet my family. If you want to, obviously, you don’t have to, it’s just that my sister’s getting married soon and she’s been asking about you and she would love to meet you.” Those last words leave Eames’ mouth in a rush, and Arthur can tell by the look on his face and the redness of his ears that he’s incredibly embarrassed. Being allowed to see Eames’ sincere emotions makes Arthur feel warm inside.

“I had no idea. I just saw the ticket and I freaked out. I’m so sorry, Eames. I…I didn’t know. I…Wow. That’s a really big thing. Why would you trust me like this?” Arthur knows that it’s not quite the smartest move to make Eames question him, but he just can’t help himself. He needs to know.

Eames hesitates before he speaks, stroking other the other man’s cheekbone carefully. “See, Arthur…I love you too.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
Arthur’s eyes go impossibly wide, and now the Englishman can’t help but smile, albeit wistfully. “I have for a very long time. I just didn’t think it was reciprocated.”  
  
“What did you think we were doing here?” Arthur asks quietly, almost afraid of what the answer might be. Eames shrugs, trying to go for nonchalant and failing spectacularly.  
  
“I didn’t really think, to be honest. I just tried to enjoy it while it lasted.”  
  
This takes Arthur’s breath away quite literally: It feels like all air is sucked out of the room, leaving only the two of them behind, bare and without anything to hide behind.  
  
“You…you thought I would leave you?”  
  
Again this wistful smile. Arthur just wants to kiss it off his lips. “At some point, yes. I never pegged you for the settling-down kind of guy.”  
  
“Why didn’t you just ask?” he asks, voice raised in exasperation.  
  
“Why didn’t you just ask about the ticket?” Eames shoots back in return, but one of his eyebrows is raised playfully and Arthur knows that yes, they’re safe now. They’ll make it.  
  
“Good point.”  
  
“I know.”

They both chuckle at this trip down memory lane, remembering the teasing and the annoyance – sometimes real, but often acted – and how they started just like this. Bickering has always been their thing, and Arthur wouldn’t have it any different.

“Eames, are we alright now?”

The other man smiles, and all traces of pain or bitterness are gone from his face.

“I think we are. I love you…and you love me as well.”  
  
There’s still a bit of insecurity in his voice, so Arthur covers Eames’ hands with his own so he’s actively cupping his own face. He doesn’t care that it probably looks ridiculous, choosing to turn his hand into one waiting palm and dropping a soft kiss there instead.  
  
“I do. I really do.”


End file.
